


An Uneasy Peace

by GwendolynGrace



Series: Love Is Yours [1]
Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, Co-workers, Gayngels, Hate to Love, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Metaphysical Sex, Opposites Attract, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Series, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Theology, not Genesis's parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:23:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7918552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwendolynGrace/pseuds/GwendolynGrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the agreement was made, one angel and one demon were selected to look after Genesis. Forever. It was as much a life sentence as an honorable assignment. Each of the chosen adjusted to their new existence in their own way, and over time, they learned to get along. They even learned to like each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is likely to be the first of a series chronicling how DeBlanc and Fiore came to be Genesis's caretakers, and how they came to be lovers. (For the purposes of this fic and any others in this series, they are not Genesis's parents themselves.)

The first century was the most difficult. Fiore spent more than half of it sitting at attention, eyes fixed on Genesis, refusing to engage DeBlanc in any sort of conversation.

"All I'm saying is, we're here and we ought to make the best of it," DeBlanc said, sometime around year 57.

"Didn't say nuffink," Fiore growled. DeBlanc resisted the urge to ask him to repeat himself, but the angel spoke so infrequently, and so reticently, that DeBlanc truly had difficulty understanding him.

"I did," he replied, after deciphering the other's statement. "I said I don't like this any better than you. Said it three years ago."

Fiore allowed his eyes to swivel from Genesis to his fellow custodian. "Never said I didn't like it."

"But you don't. Do you?" DeBlanc lowered himself onto his own chair, energized now that they were in conversation.

His enthusiasm was short-lived. Fiore bristled visibly at the familiarity and the sentiment. "Not my job to like or not like. Seraphim say, 'Watch the entity,' that's what you do."

DeBlanc snarled despite his effort to remain civil. "That's the problem with you Heaven types, isn't it: Too bloody hierarchical."

"As if you lot don't have bosses," Fiore observed with surprising rancor, for an angel.

"Yeah, all right, we do. But it's not quite as...straightforward."

Fiore let that comment sit for five years.

"So why'd you take the job, then?" he asked, five years later.

DeBlanc was so startled he nearly dropped the bottle he'd been warming. "I...I asked you first," he lied.

"Did not."

"It's an expression. It means, I'll tell you if you tell me."

"Why didn't you say that, then?" If Fiore had been anything other than an angel, DeBlanc thought, he likely would have been picking a fight. But Fiore's expression was utterly guileless--as was everything he did.

"I...I don't know," DeBlanc admitted. "Because...it's a rather personal question."

"Oh." Fiore bit the inside of his lower lip, just a nibble for a moment. "Sorry."

It was the first time anyone had ever apologized to DeBlanc. It took him nearly twenty years to process the feeling.

Then one night in the 83rd year, just before midsummer, DeBlanc finished singing Genesis a lullaby and poured two glasses of wine. He offered one to Fiore wordlessly and felt a surprising frisson of happiness when Fiore took it with a small smile.

Fiore said, "When they told me that I'd spend eternity here, I thought I was being punished for somefink."

"Ah, well, I _know_ they were punishing me," said DeBlanc. He sipped his wine, but quickly rushed to continue at the look on Fiore's face. "Not that being with you is a punishment, of course," he said, not quite as reassuring as he hoped he would sound. He was growing out of practice at lying. "Just...being here. You know. A nursemaid."

"It's an honor, really. To be trusted with it." Fiore sounded more disappointed than honored, as if he were just as shit at convincing himself as DeBlanc was.

"I suppose they train you to look on the bright side," said DeBlanc in an attempt at consolation.

"Not really."

DeBlanc had nothing to say about that, so he said nothing. They drank their wine. Another ten years passed.

It was year 95, and their existence, though hardly comfortable, was at least rather routine. Genesis preferred Fiore's touch for feeding and swaddling, but strongly favored DeBlanc for songs and stories and cossets. Once or twice a year, they judged its sleep to be deep enough for them to risk sharing a bottle of wine, though they had not struck up any new conversation. 

"Did you do somefink wrong, then?" Fiore asked, tipping the last of a bottle into DeBlanc's glass.

"Hm? No, he's perfectly fine," said DeBlanc as he glanced at Genesis in his handsome cradle.

"Not with him. It. Before, I mean. To get assigned here."

"Oh. No. Not particularly."

"Only, you said, you knew they were punishing you."

"Ah. That's...that's just how it is. Down there." He took a healthy swig.

"How do you stand it? Serving down there."

"We're not _servants_. It's not like your lot." DeBlanc surprised himself, again, by the fierceness in his voice.

"We serve _God_ ," Fiore said. There was a tiny note of defensiveness, but for the most part, it was clear that he genuinely believed the explanation was reason enough in itself. As if there could be no greater purpose in Creation. 

For Fiore, there probably wasn't.

"Well," DeBlanc said slowly, "We're not mindless about it, like that Pilo bloke--"

"Pilo's not mindless, he's very clever," said Fiore, drawing himself out of the chair. DeBlanc almost smiled--not because the angel was defending his colleague, but because his agitation was proof that DeBlanc was scraping the perfection off of him, like a layer of oil on a polished metal suit of armor. He needed buffeting. Buffing. Something like that. 

"I'm sure he's clever: After all, he convinced you to let yourself get stuck here and he's enjoying himself flying round the Silver City."

"That's not how it works!" Fiore shot back. "You and your...filth...you haven't the first notion what it's like to be a member of the Host."

DeBlanc hesitated for a millisecond. He knew that if they were to work together, they had to keep a peace between them, but really, how could they achieve more than polite detente if they didn't get things into the open? So he was helping them both, really. "Filth? Is that what you think of us all down there? We've our parts to play, just as you have."

Fiore instantly checked himself. "Of course, of course you have. I don't know why I said that, honestly." He then muttered something DeBlanc could barely catch.

"What's that?" he demanded.

"Nuffink," Fiore said angrily. "Just leave it."

"No, you said something about 'They warned you,' who warned you what?"

Fiore grimaced, lips pressed together hard. It was an expression DeBlanc would come to know well, but at that time, all he could discern was that Fiore was weighing the wisdom of answering. Finally, Fiore put his fingers to his hips, as if to signal that he didn't want to say what he was going to say, but had had his hand forced. "The Seraphi warned me you'd pick fights. That you'd...try to get a rise out of me. Make us look bad, that sort of thing." He dropped to his seat, point made.

DeBlanc's lips parted in a silent gasp. It was not quite the truth, not entirely correct, but it was so near to his nature as to make no difference. Still, somehow it _mattered_ to him that Fiore understand his real motivation, and not believe the heavenly propaganda with which they'd obviously filled his head.

"It's not exactly like that, it's…." He sat again himself, while he struggled to articulate what it was. "If we're going to live in close quarters like this, for however long, then…. We should make the best of it."

"So you've said. But then you don't."

"I don't?"

"No, you don't make the best of it. You don't leave me alone."

"Well, that's what I mean. We can't ignore one another forever."

"Course we can."

"No, we can't. We've got to work together."

"We already do. We've divided the chores--"

"No, I mean...work _together_. Get to know each other. Get over the--the prejudices and the lies each side tells the other."

"My side doesn't lie," Fiore said confidently.

DeBlanc scoffed.

"We don't!" Fiore insisted, stung.

It was DeBlanc's turn to purse his lips. "You don't lie any more than we do. But you're selective about your truth, just like we are."

"Angels. Don't. Lie."

"Then angels are wankers. Everyone lies now and then. You just did."

"Did not."

"Did, too. You told me that you hadn't said anything before, when you had done."

"I told you to leave it alone, which you didn't. That was to spare you. That's not lying."

"Sure, it is. It's just a selective sort of truth." DeBlanc leaned back and crossed his arms.

Fiore said nothing. He sulked for another three years.

"Sometimes, we may, possibly, stretch the truth," he admitted in year 98. "But it's in the best interest of all concerned, when we do."

"Of course," DeBlanc said blandly. "So...do you agree that we should make an effort to get along?"

Fiore shrugged. "Probably not necessary," he rumbled.

"Do you agree that it will make our existence more pleasant?" DeBlanc tried, finding Fiore's answer more important than he'd let himself think it would be.

Fiore regarded him as Eve must have looked at the Serpent. Genesis gurgled with laughter (or gas) and he turned his attention to their charge.

About two years later, DeBlanc put the finishing touches on a mobile hung above Genesis' head. He turned to find Fiore with a bottle of champagne and two wide-bowled glasses. "It's our anniversary," he said flatly, but the set of his jaw belied a certain pride. "One hundred years."

"So it is," DeBlanc agreed, carefully neutral. 

He accepted the glasses. Fiore expertly popped the cork. As Fiore poured them to the brim, he said, "No one _explicitly_ said it couldn't be pleasant. Just assumed it wouldn't be, is all."

DeBlanc nodded. "I thought much the same, actually."

"So. What should we drink to?" Fiore asked. He was staring at the liquor as if it might hold the solutions to life immemorial.

"How about to alliance?" DeBlanc suggested.

Fiore nodded. "Yeah, all right," he said. "Cheers." They touched the rims of their glasses and sipped at the frothy liquid. "So. Allies?"

It was a start.


	2. Chapter 2

They were not without problems, of course. In their second century together, as Genesis became slightly more aware of its caretakers, so too, their attitudes toward their charge betrayed their differences. It led, inevitably, to arguments over the proper course to take. 

"You're too indulgent," Fiore maintained.

"And you're too harsh. It's not going to respond to strict discipline." DeBlanc rocked the crib slowly, but the motion did not abate Genesis' cries. It reached out tendrils of light, as if wanting to be held, but DeBlanc knew better than to let it out. 

"It's trying to test its limits."

"I know that, but if you frustrate it, it's just going to make things worse. Mollify it a little and--"

"No. It's misbehaving and it has to learn."

"Learn what?" DeBlanc fired, spreading his hands. "You gonna give it a harp and teach it to sing in the choir?"

"Learn to control itself," Fiore replied through clenched teeth. 

"Genesis," DeBlanc said in honeyed tones to the wailing entity, "Your Uncle Fiore wants you to control yourself. Will you do that for him?"

Genesis only wailed louder, making the cell they occupied shudder. 

"Not really working, is it?" DeBlanc raised his eyebrows at Fiore, frowning.

"STOP!" Fiore ordered. He reached into the crib and placed his palm on the entity where a chest might be. "Go back to sleep."

Genesis quieted for a moment, but DeBlanc backed away. "Don't--" he began, only to be cut off by the infant. It had screwed up its face and taken in a deep breath, and now it screamed in a single, massive, ear-splitting shriek. 

"Shhhh, my dear, it's all right," DeBlanc whispered, creeping up to soothe the entity. He reached down, too close to Fiore's own hand. Their fingers brushed.

Fiore jumped back as if the touch had burned him. But Genesis…. Genesis stopped crying.

"What was that?" Fiore asked.

"I think...it doesn't like us quarreling," DeBlanc said. 

"It's always preferred me to touch it before," Fiore observed, and did he sound disappointed, or was that DeBlanc's imagination?

"I suspect it knows you're upset with it," said DeBlanc. He was rubbing along the entity's lightstream, and yes, tendrils of the comet tail were definitely reaching out to track his fingers. "Let's try a lullaby."

Fiore held still for a moment, but ultimately nodded and moved to the cylinder box. "Which one?" he asked.

"Dunno, um...how about Brahms?"

It did not like Brahms. But it did like the folk tunes, and it calmed down after about four verses of _Barbara Allen_. Fiore cranked the handle methodically, while DeBlanc worked furiously to remember lyrics which had not yet been written. After a few songs, Genesis flicked a tendril of its tail up to the mobile.

"It wants stars," Fiore noted.

"Well, it can't have them."

"Try _Twinkle, Twinkle_ ," suggested Fiore.

It liked _Twinkle, Twinkle_ , but the song was too short. The moment they stopped, it began to fuss again. Finally, DeBlanc told Fiore to find the cylinder for _Wynken, Blynken and Nod_ , as it had loads of verses and also a great deal to do with stars. That did the trick.

"So, we're just going to keep it sleeping? Forever?" Fiore asked as they both sat back in relief, now that Genesis had drifted quite into repose.

"No. Eventually we'll have to start acquainting it with its circumstances. But maybe we'll wait until it's a little older."

"How much older?" Fiore inquired. 

"I don't know. We'll just have to...take it day by day."

DeBlanc leaned back in his chair, as did Fiore. They both spent a long time absently stroking the places where their hands had brushed, the way one does a scrape or a burn.

The next time that Genesis required a protracted lullaby, DeBlanc started with _Wynken_ , but although their charge settled some, it did not go back to sleep. 

"Maybe it needs a fresh bed," Fiore suggested. He joined DeBlanc by the bars of the crib. 

"Maybe I should try it again," DeBlanc countered. A whisp of the entity was curled around his wrist, and he stroked it tenderly. He was loath to disentangle himself for fear that the ground he had gained would falter if he withdrew.

Fiore reached into the bedclothes to check them. "It's fine," he pronounced. But before he could move, another tendril separated itself from Genesis' long tail. The appendage coiled about Fiore's arm and drew it toward DeBlanc. Their wrists touched and a spark arced between them. Genesis gurgled with joy.

"It...wants us to...pet it together," Fiore said incredulously. 

"No, he--" But Fiore was right. Far from being upset by the electric charge, Genesis seemed much happier with the combined contact. He moved his hand experimentally. The further it got from Fiore's, the more the entity fussed. "Okay…."

"Makes sense, don't it," Fiore continued. "More attention."

"I don't think that's the reason," DeBlanc said. "I think it's the same reason they wanted one of yours and one of mine to mind the little blighter."

"Feels like mum and dad, you mean?" Fiore verified. "Yeah. That part's obvious."

"Put your hand over mine for a moment," DeBlanc told him. "Just for, er, science."

"Language," Fiore muttered, but he complied. A surge passed through them. 

"Whoa," said Fiore, while DeBlanc chose a more colorful response. 

"That--feels--"

"Unclean," Fiore pronounced, pulling his hand away. He moved to the far side of the cell. Genesis whimpered.

"All right, darling, shh, shh," DeBlanc said to Genesis. He rubbed both hands over the form. "S'all right." He kept soothing with his hands and voice, but meanwhile he glared at Fiore over his shoulder. After what seemed an age, Genesis fell asleep.

"Look, I thought we were past petty prejudices," he hissed when he could close the distance between them.

"Stay away," Fiore said. 

"Can we not just calm down?"

"I'm calm," Fiore insisted. "Just cautious."

DeBlanc sighed. "We've lived in these rooms for over a hundred years. If I wished to attack you--"

"But I'm not concerned about you attacking me, am I?" the angel retorted. "Sit. Down."

Hands out, DeBlanc complied. Fiore lowered himself into his seat. "We're not its parents. What happened to create it was unnatural and blasphemous."

"Let's say for the moment that I agree," DeBlanc said evenly. "I took this assignment, same as you: not necessarily willingly, but at least under my own consent. So why would I sabotage things now?"

Fiore wasn't having it. "But you don't, do you? Agree?"

"I...think you may be overstating your truth," DeBlanc admitted, wincing. "It might be blasphemous, but, I don't think passion can be considered unnatural. And--" he continued quickly, "of all emotions we're capable of, I should think peaceableness and friendship and...and love would be the most forgivable." He stumbled over the unfamiliar words, blushing at his own impudence.

"Love?" Of course, Fiore picked up on the worst of the terms. "You think love had anything to do with that abomination?"

"I didn't say love created it; I said passion. When I said 'love' I--" He rose, unable to bear the weight of Fiore's gaze on him.

"You what?" Fiore pressed.

"I meant…. I don't know what I meant." Deflated, he dropped to his chair.

When Fiore spoke again, it was in a much more conversational, almost friendly, way. "Look, I understand that you're still new to the Silver City--and what we see here in these rooms is hardly representative--but...it might surprise you to learn that love isn't a concept we espouse, up here. Not exactly. Adoration, allegiance, devotion--those are easy. We're bred to worship and serve the divine, yeah? But...love? Love is _yours_. Love is...consumptive. Dangerous. It's selfish. Love is undisciplined. It's painful and destructive and to be avoided."

"I've got news for you, my fine fellow, love isn't one of our inventions. Love is promise and fulfillment and not being alone. Love is acceptance. Love is--it's fondness and selflessness. It's the greatest gift. Not something we could ever have come up with."

They sat, watching Genesis sleep, for a long time. Fiore stood suddenly and placed his hands on his hips. "Well, if it's not ours...and it's not yours...where'd it come from, then?"

DeBlanc didn't have an answer for that. Instead, he asked, "Do you really think he's an abomination?" and nodded toward the sleeping spirit.

Fiore gazed at the creature, his expression pinched. Genesis rubbed its nose with one bright shaft of its tail, and blew a few bubbles from its mouth. Fiore smiled faintly. "It. And…. No, I don't."

"We can't take care of it if we find it abhorrent," DeBlanc cautioned.

"I...I don't. It was borne of an unholy union, and it's half evil. No offense." DeBlanc let that go with a raised eyebrow and a shrug. "That's why I'm here--to provide balance."

"And I'm here to make sure it learns to control its...impulsive half. But it's just us. We have to work together, and we have to figure out what works to keep it under control. If it needs one of each of us to soothe it, well, I think we should swallow our personal disgust and...do what's required. For the good of the child."

"For the good of the child," Fiore echoed. "But...what does that mean about _our_ good?"

DeBlanc shrugged again. "Be honest. Do you think you'll ever be able to go back to--what did you do before?"

"I was--nevermind what I was."

"Do you think you'll be allowed to resume that profession?" DeBlanc pressed.

Fiore cast his eyes down to his feet. "No," he admitted.

"Well. There you go. I already know I'm buggered. So where's the harm?" He was dimly aware that he was already embroidering the truth, just as Fiore had accused him of doing. But he couldn't help it. The spark that passed between them when they touched...he wanted to feel it again. And if a little manipulation was what it took to convince Fiore--well. What was that to a demon?


	3. Chapter 3

They proceeded experimentally, with caution. They synchronized their contact without touching each other; Genesis liked it, though not as much as when they brushed along its energy with their hands side-by-side, and not nearly as much as when they entwined their fingers. 

"Does it seem to fuss more than usual?" Fiore asked. 

"Terrible twos," DeBlanc responded, as an explanation. "As you said, it's testing limits."

" _Our_ limits," Fiore concluded. "I think it's playing games with us."

"Well, of course it is," said DeBlanc. "It's becoming more aware. That makes it sensitive to its surroundings. If we seem to be getting on, it feels...reassured."

"Seem," Fiore repeated. "We only _seem_ to be getting on?"

"It's an expression," DeBlanc sighed. "I mean--are we? Getting on?"

"Well…." Fiore bit his lip. "I _thought_ so. But then you said 'seem' and--"

"I only meant in terms of what Genesis perceives," DeBlanc said gently. "I don't...presume to think an Adeph would get on with--with--"

"I do, though," Fiore whispered. "I don't mind, so much."

They were standing uncomfortably close to one another, and static electricity rippled between the outlines of their arms.

DeBlanc took a step backward. "They said...they said we could ask for things, didn't they? To pass the time?"

"Yeah," agreed Fiore. "Did you have something in mind?"

"I--like games," DeBlanc admitted. "Chess?"

"A PlayStation," Fiore breathed.

"A what?"

"I dunno; it just came to me. But I don't think it's been imagined yet."

"Well, that's unlikely, then, isn't it?"

"Deck of cards?"

"Now you're talking," DeBlanc agreed, and if he had more enthusiasm than strictly warranted, it was only because Fiore seemed finally to be loosening up a little. 

Their experiments continued, even with the cards and the chess set. Cards offered potential hours of interaction, but it also kept them a respectful distance apart. There was the occasional moment, though, when they both reached for the discards at the same time, and hands might brush. Perhaps DeBlanc saw to it that they touched more often than absolutely necessary. 

On one such occasion, Fiore shocked him by grasping his fingers as he swept the cards back toward himself. Literally shocked, as well as emotionally, but neither let go. He looked down at where Fiore's thumb rested on his knuckles. Fiore rubbed over them lightly, then gently turned his hand over and pressed his thumb into the center of his palm. All the while, a pleasant current ran through DeBlanc's wrist and up his arm.

"Can you...feel that?" DeBlanc asked. "That charge?"

Fiore nodded. "Mm-hm," he grunted, lips pressed together into a thin line. He massaged DeBlanc's palm, creating a constant frisson along DeBlanc's nerve endings. "Want me to stop?"

"No, I--" DeBlanc rose and moved closer to Fiore. With the other seated, he was almost eye to eye. "I should check on--"

"It's asleep," Fiore assured him. "Said yourself, it knows when we're getting on."

"So, this is...for the good of the child?" DeBlanc verified. Fiore had pulled him a little closer and his shoulder almost touched Fiore's chest.

"In the interest of harmony, yeah," Fiore said. He placed his other hand on DeBlanc's hip. With the application of a little pressure, he overbalanced DeBlanc so that he toppled into Fiore's lap. The sparks arced and flowed between them, back and forth. DeBlanc could imagine nothing more intimate.

"You said passion was ours," DeBlanc warned him when he could catch his breath.

"And you said love is selfless."

"Is that what this is? Or is it merely proximity?"

"I've watched you. With Genesis. I think you're here because you're too good to be down there."

DeBlanc giggled. He couldn't help it. Fiore's assessment was both true and fantastically untrue. And underneath it, that typically Angelic condescension. He pulled back a fraction. "You're saying that you can stand touching me because you've decided I'm not really...Demonic?"

Fiore looked away as if struck. "I...I see you becoming a better version of yourself. Because you're here."

A "better man" might have balked at Fiore's self-important sanctimony. DeBlanc considered pointing out to Fiore how denigrating his statement had been. But, to do so would have ruined the moment, the mood, and more importantly, the progress he'd been making. Instead, he settled his weight against Fiore and lowered his head to press his lips home.

Things progressed remarkably smoothly after that. DeBlanc thought of their relationship as a spiral that reinforced itself. The intimacy they felt with one another led to better coordination in caring for the entity, which led to a more harmonious existence, which allowed them further intimacy, and so on. Genesis seemed content with the arrangement, too. As they tumbled into their third century, their metaphysical closeness gave way to more candid conversation.

"What did happen, though, that you wound up here?" he asked Fiore one afternoon, tangled together on his bed.

"Nothing 'happened,' I volunteered," Fiore said simply. "They said they had a job that would be difficult but required discretion and...and diligence."

"And you're diligent? Discreet?" 

"Yeah." Fiore winced. "Normally." He stretched and looked up at the ceiling.

"Oh, dear. Am I a bad influence?" DeBlanc teased.

"Yeah."

"That came out rather quickly," said DeBlanc, more stung than he cared to admit. "I thought you were improving me."

Fiore squinted at him with a shrewdness that instantly made him regret pushing the topic. "You're improving yourself," the angel said, again so calmly that it was impossible to accuse him of condescension. "But I never would have...would have considered--this--with one of your kind, if it weren't for--"

"--For our charge," DeBlanc finished for him.

"--For the service of a greater good," Fiore corrected. "And…. I like you." He looked away; DeBlanc could see a tinge to his skin. Could that be blushing? "I never thought I could like a demon."

"Former demon, actually."

DeBlanc could not hold back a smile at the shock evident on Fiore's face. "Well, think about it. I became a former demon the moment I took this assignment. Living a cloud or two outside the Silver City? I couldn't do that if I weren't willing to...alter myself a little."

"You never said--"

"I said it was personal." He pushed himself up on an elbow so that he could see Fiore better. "It is. I won't deny that there's some influence, but mostly, I had to pledge to give up demonizing just to be able to survive up here."

Fiore said nothing for a long time. Eventually, DeBlanc reclined again. Fiore's hand traced lazy patterns on his arms. He almost dozed. Just as he was drifting off, Fiore said, "So, you can't go back?"

DeBlanc sucked air between his teeth. "Oh, I can, I'm sure I can. But--to tell you the truth, I don't want to. Honestly, I didn't want to be there anymore, anyway. I was tired of the senselessness of the way things are down there. And I think, between you and me, my superiors were trying to get rid of me. If it hadn't been this job, they'd have found something far less--pleasant."

"So, you were telling the truth? They wanted to punish you?"

"Yes, and it's only because they couldn't conceive of this as anything but a punishment that they chose me to do it."

"I...have a confession."

"All right."

"Some of the Seraphim thought I was a poor Adeph. Haven't even got a sword, flaming or otherwise. Pilo, that's my boss--he wanted me to take this assignment to...prove them wrong."

"You angels are so fucked up." He pushed the language deliberately, to see if Fiore would flinch. 

He flinched. "Oh, and you demons aren't?"

"Can't say it, can you?"

"Don't need to do."

"My point is, an eternal guardpost isn't exactly the way to promotion."

"Are you trying to tempt me?" Fiore asked suddenly. "Is this whole thing an attempt to pull me down? Strip me of my wings?"

DeBlanc rolled away. "No. It might have been, once, but--not now." He knew, as Fiore did, without ever having to say it, that they had to keep their relations secret from their superiors--that if they revealed to anyone the measures they were using, they would be replaced, and their own fates would surely be far less pleasant. 

Luckily, Fiore was in the mood to take him at face value. "I--I'm sorry I asked that," he said quietly. "Only, I couldn't be sure--"

"It's all right." He lapsed into silence. "You know what? We need more variety. I think we could get some books now, if we asked. Well, if _you_ asked."

He was right. Fiore placed a request and a box of books was delivered the next day. Pilo did not deliver them; a young female Adeph dropped them off. Fiore stepped outside for a few minutes to speak to her. DeBlanc stood as close to the door as he dared, eavesdropping.

"...Honestly, you're so _sweet_ ," he listened to her say with a giggle. He could imagine the hair flip. He felt, rather than heard, Fiore's answering rumble, and then he had to jump back as the cell door opened and the angel came back inside. 

"That wasn't Pilo," DeBlanc observed. He tried not to sound petulant, but she'd been flirting so.... 

"No."

"Well, who was she?" 

"Her name's Zelba. She's all right." Fiore brought the box of books inside to look through them. DeBlanc, mollified, drifted over as well: There were copies of the Dead Sea Scrolls, a book of hours from a monastery outside Cressy, a Psalter book of hymns from the library at Alexandria, and for some reason, an early draft of the Quran.

"Not a single murder mystery in the bunch?" he complained.

"What's a murder mystery?" Fiore asked.

"Never mind. Doesn't matter." And really, it didn't. He had everything he needed.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm hedging a bit on the subject of Heaven. Some of my concept is borrowed from the comics and the glimpses of heaven that we get there. Some of it is from other parts of the DC Vertigo universe, like Sandman and Lucifer. _Good Omens_ is undeniably a huge influence, too. Some of it is all mine. It's limited in perspective because DeBlanc only gets to see inside the rooms he shares with Fiore. No, they don't have the coffee can yet (because coffee cans haven't been invented). I have vague theories on how old Genesis is when it escapes, and thus how long DeBlanc and Fiore looked after it before the start of the series, which informs roughly when they have access to items that come from earth.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @gwenlygrace


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